Sandy crossed his legs restfully. "Sure," he answered readily.
That week, therefore, Ross used his spare time–and some time which he ought not to have spared–in making a sled. It was, when finished, a crude but efficient affair, the runners being surmounted by a double-decked box. This vehicle he exhibited one day to the McKenzies as the prospective conveyor of their supplies over the mountains.
Sandy stood in front of the shack, his hands in his pockets, his cap pushed well back on his head and the front lock of hair falling over his forehead.
"Doc, you’re the stuff!" he cried warmly. "There’s an idee or two floatin’ around in yer tenderfoot brain, ain’t there?"
Tied to both front and rear of the sled were ropes, two in front, one behind. Those in front differed in length.
"See?" explained Ross. "Two can’t walk abreast on the trail, but still it’s easier for each one to pull on his own rope. That’s the reason I made ’em of different lengths. Then one of us behind can hold the sled from slipping off the trail with the rear rope. In this way we can bring up a big load of supplies."
Sandy removed his cap, and pushed back his hair.
"Doc, where was you raised? Guess I’ll go back t’ the same place, and be raised over agin. It might pay." His tone expressed an admiration that was almost genuine.
Waymart said nothing. He scarcely glanced at the sled, but turned away scowling up toward the tunnel where, as he had informed himself, Ross and Weimer were doing an amazingly good piece of work.
As they started back toward their own shack, Ross heard Waymart say angrily to Sandy, "Are you goin’ to take the use of that sled?"